


Premonition

by silurica



Series: Look to Love, Always [18]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Decapitation, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silurica/pseuds/silurica
Summary: 'Kiss me for I was as you are, and one day, you shall be as I am.'The Rueful Ex-Diplomat's dance with death continues, no matter where he goes.
Series: Look to Love, Always [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068755





	Premonition

When he comes to, he finds himself in a town lit by gaslamps. Is this still London? But there are no false-stars, and it is so quiet he can hear his every step, every movement. Has the Liberation taken place? But if so, there should be no shining gaslamps to light the road.

He turns around, and only now he noticed: a slightly open door, a pleasant melody streaming like a creek, a delicious smell wafting as a wordless invitation. It would be unwise to lower his guard so easily, but perhaps that is what he needs?

The door opens with the ringing of a bell. Inside is a warmly lit dining room, the tables decorated with a vase of roses each; a restaurant? The music has stopped, but he can see a piano in one corner. Strange, the place does not seem to be abandoned, but there is no one.

“Good evening, sir.” A soft, chilly voice comes from behind him. He turns around and there stood a man behind him; since when has he been there? The man, taller than him and immaculately dressed, smiles. “Welcome to my humble place. Please allow me to take you to your seat.”

The waiter motions a gesture and takes the lead, and the guest follows despite his own bemusement. As the waiter tends to his wants and needs, he cannot help but notice how pale the waiter is. His skin is white as snow, his hair is dark as his attire, and the steel blue of his eyes is the only colour in his otherwise monochrome appearance. He looks almost like a ghost.

While enjoying the starter – a bowl of lightly flavoured soup – he takes the time to observe his surroundings, but the roses decorating the tables caught his attention the most. The red of the roses feels familiar, has he seen it before? And they look dry, as if the petals have been plucked off and reattached to the stalks.

The ringing of a bell announces the time for the main course. The waiter shows up again with a trolley to swap the emptied bowl with the next dish. With an elegant hand, the waiter lifts the silver dome covering the dish, and there sits the severed head of a beloved person.

His memories and awareness come rushing into his mind in an instant.

He caresses the long, silky hair, just as he used to play with it. He gently touches the cheeks, as he used to in their intimate moments. He brings their lips together to his, those lips that used to whisper sweet words for him only. He embraces that fragment of his beloved tightly, as if trying to bury himself in the memories they shared together.

This is a dream. A painful reminder. In reality, he was too late. He did not even have the chance to see his beloved’s corpse before flame turned it into floating ashes. Dried rose petals and a name were the traces that the murderer left behind for him to follow. He remembers. He remembers and he will have his revenge.

“It was for the sake of our Game.” Across him now sits another person, clad in fine silk. “Soon,” they intone as blood trickles down from their mouth. “You will sink your dagger into another flesh, just like you did to me.”

Shut up.

A sneer forms on their face. “A shame about my death, but I’m glad you have grown into such a fine Nishiooji.”

You are a ghost. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“You and I are the same at the end. You are one of us, Viscount.”

When he tries to speak his mind, he awakens in his bed. No restaurant, no roses, no trace of his beloved. Only him alone with a stinging pain in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a familiar setup for me, writing the waiter character. He previously appeared in another story too. It's kind of a crossover, but I think it's not a stretch for such scenario to occur in Parabola even without his presence.


End file.
